


Victory, Vigilance, & Sacrifice

by adventuresofmeghatron



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multiple Origins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-09-22 13:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adventuresofmeghatron/pseuds/adventuresofmeghatron
Summary: An Avvar warrior, the noble First of Clan Sabrae, a temperamental Templar, and a habitually dishonest mage all join forces to protect their home - and the world - from destruction. The year is 9:30 Dragon, and Fereldan is on the brink of collapse. To battle the Blight and the rising political turmoil, four unlikely heroes join the Grey Wardens and seek to build an army to fight the impending darkness.Multiple Origins are True fic based on a D&D campaign I ran following the plot of Dragon Age: Origins.





	1. The Stone Bear

**Author's Note:**

> This story originated (pun intended) in September 2017, when I got a group of four people together to play a Dragon Age Origins inspired campaign of Dungeons and Dragons. Besides tidbits they had garnered from my incessant fangirling, my players had minimal knowledge of the Dragon Age universe. I fell in love with these characters and the way they interacted with the world, so much so, that when the campaign was over, I did not want to let them go just yet.
> 
> The following epic is a retelling of our Dungeons & Dragon Age campaign. There are significant alterations to the universe that were necessary to make it workable in a Dungeons and Dragons setting. I borrowed heavily from later games to help satisfy my players’ plot arcs, and I took a lot of creative license just because I wanted to. 
> 
> Enjoy, friends!

He woke to the taste of ashes in his mouth.

Strom blinked away the blurriness of sleep. His forehead throbbed with a dull headache, but other than a few scratches here and there, last night hadn’t left him any worse for the wear. 

He lay on a mat in the back room of the Dwarven trading outpost. Grimly was back topside, and that meant  _ real _ dwarven ale. For all of the strengths of his people, ale was one thing, he conceded, that the dwarves did best.

Strom uncurled himself from the wooden floor and sat up. His stomach lurched, and his spine ached in protest. On second thought, maybe things had gotten a little rough last night. He peered around the wooden shack, littered with empty bottles and flagons. Harthor was passed out against a sack of deep mushrooms in the corner. Arda had taken the bed on the other side of the room, her snores reverberating like a rumble of thunder. 

“Careful,” she’d cautioned him. “This brew is so fresh you might burn your tongue on it!”

“I know how to drink just fine, Arda.”

“None of us is doubting that, Strom, it’s just that--”

“Ah!” He’d scorched his tongue on the molten liquor. Arda rushed to get him water from a  barrel by the counter. Strom gulped it down gratefully.

“Well,” Grimly chuckled. “What do you think?”

“That,” Strom panted, “was really fucking good. I’ll take another!”

The dwarves cheered, and the night became a burning blur.

Now, Grimly was nowhere to be seen. Angry voices argued outside of the front door. Strom crept closer, floorboards creaking beneath his feet.

“What do you mean...gone?”

“All of them, Grimly. It’s awful,” a dwarven man spoke in a fearful voice. “Bodies everywhere, the entire hold torched.”

“Shit... _ Shit _ !” Grimly paced the front porch. “Any survivors?”

“No...none that I saw anyway.”

“Then they’ll be heading to us sooner or later. I’m not going to stick around for later. Come on, let’s get the others up.”

Grimly opened the door to Strom’s burly form blocking the way. The other dwarf flinched away from him, but Grimly remained unmoving. His panicked gaze raked over Strom.

“Grimly,” Strom growled, “tell me what’s going on,  _ now. _ ”

Grimly held up his hands in defeat. “Strom, you can’t go back there. It’s a massacre. You won’t save anyone by playing the hero---”

Strom seized Grimly by the collar, teeth bared with wild eyes. “ _ Who did this?” _

Grimly sealed his lips in a firm line, but the dwarf behind him sputtered a feverish answer. “It was Howe! Arl Howe, from Amaranthine.”

Strom dropped Grimly, breathing fast. “Then he is an oathbreaker. The Stone Bears promised him access to those mines in exchange for food,” Strom’s fists clenched so hard, his knuckles grew white. “I know what to do to oathbreakers.” Strom stormed back into the outpost and seized his great fur cape from the back of a chair. His hand went for the mighty axe resting near the door.

“Strom, we can’t stay here,” Grimly pleaded. “Those men did...unspeakable things. Who knows what they will do to us. Come with us, we can--”

“Coward!” Strom snarled and shoved the dwarf from his path.

“Strom, wait!”

Strom tore into the cold mountain air, racing for home. 

Not a single creature crossed his rampaging path through the morning snow. All he heard was the thunder of his own footsteps, his breath roaring in his ears. It was only a few miles back to Stone Bear Hold. Those miles seemed like thousands now. His legs weighed him down like they were made of lead.

He saw the smoke before he smelled the cinders. Jolting to a sudden stop, Strom clutched at the walls of the stone tunnel that led to home. A thick cloud of ash drifted through the air. His eyes squinted against the sting of the smoke. A dark figure lingered at the other end of the tunnel. He drew his axe with both hands, stepping forward with eyes locked on the figure.

“Who are you? Show yourself!” Strom darted forward, hands poised to swing.

He dropped his weapon into the snow, trembling.

Thane Svarah Sun-Hair hung from a noose before him, her body blowing like a leaf in the wind. She wasn’t just dead; she was brutalized. Pieces of her littered the cavern floor, torn apart by cruel beasts obeying crueler masters.

Strom rushed into the camp, grabbing his axe from the bloodied ground beneath Svarah.

The red snow carved through Stone Bear Hold like a snake. More bodies every few paces, mauled, gored, torn apart. He tried to run but his legs wouldn’t move fast enough. Past Soren and Ilsa’s house, around the corner from Nevin, behind the Skald’s hut...and there they were.

Mother and Father lay black and burned before him. A choked cry came from Strom as he collapsed to his knees. His hands moved across their broken bodies as if he could somehow piece them back together. What was left of the house collapsed in on itself with a sharp crackle of fire. The flames leapt back to life, hungrily eating away at the corpse of his home.

Voices whistled on the wind behind him, followed by crunching boots on snow. Strom seized his axe and rose with a guttural roar. 

“We’ve got a live one over here!”

“Not for long, take him out!”

Strom whirled around and thrust his axe in front of him just in time to block a sword aimed for his stomach. The steel clanged against the axe. Strom towered over the three lowlanders, clad in chainmail with Howe’s sigil splashed across their chests. He shoved the weapon aside with his own and bore down on them with a roar of fury.

Strom swung forward in a frenzy of blows. He barely felt the sharp bite of steel to his side, or the warmth of the blood running down his chest. All he could feel was the rage that ran in his veins like fire. He swung, again and again, narrowly missing. Finally, he felt the crunch of skin and bone as he drove his axe into his foe’s chest. The soldier collapsed into the snow, trying feebly to inch away from him. Strom brought his axe high above his head, and slashed into the man’s skull with a sickening crack.

 

A high, keening whistle sounded behind him, followed by a barrage of barking in the near distance. Strom swung his axe to the man behind him, catching him in the throat. 

Strom felt a sudden ache in his chest as he lurched towards the last soldier, cutting him down at the ankles before finishing him with a blow to the spine. Staggering, Strom moved his hand over the blood leaking from his stomach and down his legs. Four large gashes punctured his abdomen. Suddenly, the sky above seemed to spin in a dizzying spiral. He collapsed to the ground in puddle of gore, overwhelmed with nausea.

More soldiers appeared over the crest of the slope, with hounds in tow. Three, then four, six, seven, too many to count. Strom’s vision seemed to falter and the heads peering down at him doubled. 

Then, all of them turned in unison at the sound of hooves pounding against the snow. A man on horseback, clad in gray and blue, soared up the slope. With a sweep of his sword, he felled the soldiers nearest to him. The rest of them surged to life, converging on the newcomer like a swarm. The song of steel against steel brought Strom’s vision back into focus. He crawled forward, clasping his axe. Baring his teeth, he struggled to a quivering stand, weapon in front of him.

With a roar, Strom surged forward once more, plowing his axe into a soldier’s back. He turned and swung at another, his blade plunging into flesh once more. And again, and again, until his rescuer dismounted his horse, and the field was littered with the dead. Strom dropped to his knees, panting heavily. 

The man’s shadow dropped over him. Strom squinted up at his ally. He was a man of middle age, perhaps near Strom’s own thirty-eight years. He had black hair tied back behind his head, and a beard cut close to his chin. He wore a single gold earring, and armor bearing a blue-and-grey sigil that Strom did not recognize.

“Who...who are you?” Strom panted.

“My name is Duncan. I am Warden-Commander of the Fereldan Grey Wardens.” He offered Strom a hand. Strom grasped it and Duncan helped him to a large boulder. “You’re injuries are quite serious. I have something that may help.”

“Help?” Strom scoffed with a snarl. “Howe said he would help my clan, and look what happened! I don’t need any more help from fucking  _ lowlanders _ !” Strom tried to move once more, but his legs betrayed him.

Duncan placed a firm hand on Strom’s shoulder. “Wait.”

Storm glared coldly back at the Warden. “I will tear his head from his body, I will slaughter these oathbreakers where they stand! They have to pay for what they did!” He shrugged away from Duncan’s grasp and limped past him.

“There is no excuse for what happened here, but dying now won’t bring back the rest of your clan.”

Strom stopped. He could feel the rage simmering in his veins once more, threatening to boil over. “You know nothing about my clan, lowlander.”

“I did not mean to offend you--”

“Then stop talking!”

“Not until you hear me out.” Duncan stepped in front of Strom’s warpath. Strom clenched his fists so hard, they began to tremble. “I came to speak with your Thane, about recruiting Avvar warriors into the ancient order of the Grey Wardens. Your Thane is gone, but you remain. You may very well be the last of the Stone Bears.” 

Strom flinched.

Duncan continued. “Now, I may be nothing but a mere lowlander, but my understanding of your traditions is that you are now Thane by default.”

Storm barked a lifeless laugh. “You cannot have a Thane without a clan.”

“You live, Strom. It seems like small recompense now, but through you, your clan survives. You may one day rebuild what was lost here. But to do that, you have to leave. Reinforcements will be swarming these mountains within the hour. We will need to be gone by then.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“Ostagar, to the south,” Duncan replied. “A force of Wardens gathers there to battle the darkspawn horde. Our numbers are few, but we are bolstered by King Cailin’s royal army. Your people tell legends of the Blight as mine do, about the terror and havoc it wreaks on everyone and everything. The horde will come for you, me, and Howe alike if left unchecked. The Grey Wardens are sworn enemies of its corruption. It is our duty to do anything within our power to defeat it.”

Strom hesitated. In the distance, he heard the shouts of men, accompanied by the howls of hounds. More cries in the distance, following by feet crunching on snow. He turned to Duncan, expression grim.

“If...If I join you, and fight the darkspawn, you will help me punish Howe? You will make him pay for what happened here?”

“I swear to you,” Duncan spoke solemnly, “I will do everything in my power to bring him to justice for his crimes against your people.” He extended his hand to Strom. 

“If I live to regret this, Duncan,” Strom sauntered forward, clasping Duncan’s outstretched hand, “I’ll have to kill you.”


	2. The First of Her Clan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan recruits the First of Clan Sabrae into the ranks of the Grey Wardens.

Wind whistled in the branches of the Brecilian Forest. From her perch among the boughs, Thaltiri heard the skittering of squirrels in the leaves, the song of birds taking to the sky, and the crunch of unwelcome footsteps on the ground below. Voices filtered from the earth to her ears. Peering down, she eyed the three foreign figures as they plodded noisily through the woods, oblivious to the watcher in the trees. Softly, Thaltiri uttered a deliberate  _ coo, coo _ that blended just enough into the birdsong. Lithe and swift, she began her descent. 

“Who knows what we’ll find!”

“You don’t think we’ll - oh,  _ shit! _ ”

Thaltiri’s arrow landed inches away from their feet, causing the men to scramble backwards. One of the shems windmilled his arms before falling on his backside. The others seized him and hoisted him to his feet just in time for Thaltiri’s toes to meet the ground and her hands to knock an arrow once more. Behind the ornately-carved bow, clad in a cloak the same shade as the trees, was an elven woman with fierce eyes the color of clover and soft brown hair. Her face was decorated in the jagged lines of the  _ vallaslin. _

“It’s a Dalish!” One of the shemlen exclaimed.

“Where did she even  _ come from? _ ” Another peered around the trees in dawning terror.

“You three are somewhere you shouldn’t be,” Thaltiri chided gently.

“Let us pass, elf!” The leader snorted indignantly. “You’ve no right to stop us!”

Thaltiri pulled the bowstring back a little farther. “Don’t I? I am the First of Clan Sabrae, and it is my duty to protect my home.”

“We can take her,” one of the shemlen growled. “It’s just one elf!”

“She’s not alone.” The men whirled around to see another elf, this one a tall blond man with vallaslin that curved around his lips and across his cheekbones. The elf’s eyes pierced into them like ice, his bow drawn and at the ready. “What do you think,  _ lethallin? _ ” Tamlen’s voice grew gentler as he addressed Thaltiri, though his gaze never peeled from his quarry. “Should we teach these  _ shemlen _ a lesson?”

The humans looked fearfully from Thaltiri to Tamlen and back again. Thaltiri’s eyes narrowed as the one closest to hear began to reach for the dagger at his waist. She gave the barest of nods, and she and Tamlen unleashed their arrows at once. The third shrieked shrilly as both his companions fell to their knees, then dead to the earth. Tamlen drew a second arrow, but before he loosed it, the man whipped a dagger from his belt up towards Tamlen’s neck. Without hesitation, Thaltiri drew the scimitar at her hip and slashed through the shem, cutting him down with ease. The dagger dropped a breath away from Tamlen’s throat.

Tamlen smirked. “Nice work.”

“Next time, be quicker,” Thaltiri scolded him. “He almost got you with that knife.”

Tamlen scoffed. “Please, you don’t really think-”

“You scared me, okay?” Thaltiri snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tamlen’s expression softened. “Okay,” he conceded. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

Thaltiri uncrossed her arms. “What do you think they were doing so close to the camp, anyway?’

“I don’t know, it’s troubling. I thought I heard them speaking of a cave.”

“A cave? Nearby?”

“Yes, just west of here. But...I don’t know of any nearby.” Tamlen smiled mischievously. “Want to follow the trail?”

“Okay,” Thaltiri replied, tentatively taking Tamlen’s outstretched hand in hers. A warmth spread through her at the simple touch. She swore she saw a flush of pink in his cheeks before he looked away from her. “Lead the way.”

 

Weaving through the gnarled roots and tangled brush, Tamlen carved an unfamiliar path through the forest. He caught sight of Thaltiri’s puzzled look and laughed softly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t get us lost.”

“It’s not that it just...seems unfamiliar.”

“Oh? You’ve been spending too many days cooped up with the Keeper. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to prowl through the trees. When was the last time you went hunting?”

“I really don’t know,” Thaltiri said bashfully. “I’ve been learning so much, it all seems to be a blur.”

“Well, it’ll be worth it. You’ll be a great Keeper someday.” Now it was Thaltiri’s turn to blush. “I’m surprised you snuck away today. How did you convince Marethari to let you come with me?”

“Maybe I wanted to spend time with you.”

“I thought that might be it. I’m glad. I - woah!”

Tamlen stopped short as a white stone column came into view, protruding from between the trees. Thaltiri followed his gaze to the littering of broken marble between the roots and vines. Just ahead, a great gap in between two boulders formed the open mouth of a cave. Hesitantly, Thaltiri strode forward, running her hands along the ruins. Time had weathered away any noticeable markers, but a hint of magic danced across her fingertips as she traced the grooves in the stone. The sensation sent her stomach into flips. It occurred to her then that the woods had fallen still, unnervingly still.

“Tamlen...I don’t like this.”

Tamlen had stepped forward to, studying the broken structures with awe. “I can’t believe no one in the clan has found this before.”

“Tamlen,” Thaltiri said in a sharper tone. “I’m serious, there’s magic all over the columns. These ruins could be dangerous.”

To her dismay, her warning only lit further excitement in Tamlen’s eyes. “What if...what if these are  _ elven _ ruins? Legend says all of the People could wield magic before the quickening!”

Thaltiri offered a strained smile. “Tamlen, I really don’t think--”

“Stop thinking and come look with me!” The words were called over his shoulder as Tamlen started towards the cave entrance.

Thaltiri trailed uneasily after him, her anxiety mounting as they dipped into the darkness of the cave and left the familiarity of the woods behind them.

What they saw took Thaltiri’s breath away.

Before them was a long hall, paved with jade-colored tile carved in intricate, swirling patterns. Down the corridor, wreathed in light from a hole in the cavern roof, was a towering statue of an elf clad in flowing robes. He wore a  mighty headdress and wielded a gleaming spear. Behind him, jagged gold ornaments rested on his shoulders.  _ Wings? _ Thaltiri wondered. Without even feeling herself move, she came to the base of the figure, drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

_ I know him _ . Recognition clicked in her brain. She’d memorized his name, along with the others. Hidden in the pages of the only written tome in her clan, one preserved by generations of Keepers. Merciful One, Friend of the Dead. 

“Falon’Din,” Thatliri’s breath carried through the air like a ghost. She was suddenly cold as ice, even in the heart of summer.

Tamlen joined her. “This...this is one of the Creators?” 

“Yes,” a smile broke across here face. “Tamlen, I can’t believe it. You were right...these ruins, they’re ours. They’re  _ elvhen! _ ”

“I told you so! Come on, there’s another passageway that goes further in. Let’s keep looking!”

Heart pounding with exhilaration, Thaltiri followed his lead slowly, pausing every step of the way to study the beauty around her. Eventually, she lost track of him altogether as he disappeared into a chamber up ahead.

“I can’t believe this!” She laughed. “The history of our People, it’s been here this whole time and we didn’t even know!” Her voice echoed off the walls before fading into silence. She felt suddenly chilled once more, and shivered. “Tamlen?”

She found him in the room at the end of the hall, staring, completely transfixed, before a massive, looming mirror. Its shimmering surface was bound by golden metal, curving to form a border around the glass. The magic soared in Thaltiri’s blood once more, humming so frantically it burned her fingertips. She gritted her teeth in pain, shaking her hands to wring out the sensation. But it persisted, washing over her like a cold, dark wave. Tamlen was hypnotized, gaze blank and unmoving from the relic before them. Abruptly, he lurched forward, as if his legs were operating on their own volition.

His hand, trembling, stretched forward to touch it.

Thaltiri doubled backward in a sudden outburst of pain. She uttered a strangled cry, hands clamping over her ears. Whispers tore at her mind, their voices raking like knives. They snarled unintelligible words in a language she recognized, by could scarcely understand. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sensation, but the voices became dark, shadows behind her closed lids, their red, pulsing eyes burning her like fire. Panic seized her. She forced her eyes open and struggled forward.

“Tamlen - Tamlen DON’T!”

Too late, his fingertips were locked against the glass. Her voice shattered his stupor. Desperately, he tried to wrench his hand from the mirror, but to no avail.

“Thaltiri...they’re coming, Thaltiri, help me! Help me!”

Tamlen screamed, and the pain of the magic seared into Thaltiri’s skull. The world grew white, and she felt no more.

“Will she make it, Keeper?’

Familiar voices sifted through the fog of Thaltiri’s mind.

“She is strong, Fen’arel,” Marethari sighed softly. Her voice was cracked and tired. 

Fen’arel waited, expecting more, but receiving nothing.

“That shem wanted to speak to you again,” Fen’arel growled.

“Be grateful,” Marethari chided. “If he had not found her, I am certain she would be dead.”

“Ir abelas, Keeper. We have much to thank him for.”

“Keeper?” Thaltiri felt warmth fill her throat as she choked out the words. Her blood tasted like metal on her tongue.

“Da’len?” The Keeper’s words were edged in relief and sadness. “Oh, Da’len, I feared for you so. Do not struggle, you need to conserve your strength. Fen’arel - fetch her some water, please.” The elf bowed his head and disappeared from the tent at once.

Thaltiri’s eyes fluttered open to Keeper Marethari peering over her. The Keeper gently stroked her forehead. Her hand felt like ice on Thaltiri’s sweltering skin. She swatted her away. Marethari recoiled, forehead wrinkled in concern.

“Where is Tamlen?” Thaltiri choked hoarsely.

“Da’len, you are gravely ill. You need to-”

“Keeper,  _ please _ . Where is he? Is he sick like me?”

Marethari bowed her head, eyes closed. “No, my dear. A Grey Warden found you outside of the ruins...alone, and scarcely alive. There has been no sign of Tamlen.”

Thaltiri opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. Every fiber of her being desperately wanted to tear through the woods in search of Tamlen, but each breath was like needles in her lungs. Her muscles trembled with weakness as she tried to sit upright.  
“We need to send a search party,” Thaltiri spoke determinedly. “We need to look for him! Keeper, there was this horrible mirror--”

Marethari held up a hand to stop her. “Duncan has assured me the mirror was destroyed. We’ve scoured these woods for any sign of Tamlen and found nothing. Da’len, you have been unconscious for nearly a week. I prayed each night to the Creators. I was so certain we would lose you.” Tears leaked from the corners of the old woman’s eyes. She refused to meet Thaltiri’s gaze.

Overwhelming horror settled over Thaltiri. “I’ve been like this a whole week? But wait, Keeper, who is Duncan?”

“I believe an introduction is in order.” Parting the flaps of the tent was a human in steel armor, his dark hair tied in a ponytail behind his head. His chin was covered with the scruff of a beard. Thaltiri recoiled at the site of the shem, eyes trailing to the pair of short swords at his waist. He held up his hands in a diplomatic gesture as his gaze followed hers.

“Forgive the intrusion, Keeper Marethari,” he bowed slightly in the Keeper’s direction. “I heard our patient had awakened. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you both. I would not be so forward if time was not of the essence.”

The Keeper composed herself quickly. “There is nothing to forgive, Duncan. Only a gratitude I cannot fully express.” Her sad, gray eyes lingered on Thaltiri. “Da’len, this is the Grey Warden, Duncan, who rescued you and brought you home to us.”

Thaltiri’s indignation at the interruption was stifled by her shock. “I….thank you, friend, for what you’ve done for me. The Keeper told me….you did not find another elf with me in the forest?”

Duncan shook his head solemnly. “I have ventured back out with your hunters to search for him. The ruins were deserted when we arrived, except for a handful of darkspawn.”

“Darkspawn? On the surface?”

“Yes,” Duncan said gravely. “And I am afraid more are on the horizon. We have no time to stand on ceremony. The mirror you found was tainted by the Blight, and now it has tainted you as well.”

“I-- what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that no matter what efforts are made to cure you, there are only two options left before you. The disease, if left to fester, will drive you mad and eventually corrupt you into one of those foul creatures. You will lose who you are, and you will become a vessel of the Blight.”

“But there is another option,” Marethari interjected sharply. “This is  _ not _ your destiny, da’len.”

Thaltiri struggled for words in a fresh wave of panic. “But if what Duncan says is true… Keeper, there’s no cure for the Blight!”

“There is one,” Duncan corrected her. “You can undergo the Joining ritual to become a Grey Warden. It is not always a mercy. And it may kill you surely as the Blight. But, if successful, it will stay the corruption and allow you to live for a time.”

“No!” Thaltiri snarled. “I’m not joining some shemlen army, we’re going to look for Tamlen!”

The Keeper shook her head slowly. “You are going to go with Duncan, Thaltiri. You are going to  _ live _ .”

“Keeper!” Tears swelled in Thaltiri’s eyes. “This is my home!”

“And it will not become your grave!” The Keeper roared.

The words took the breath from her lungs.

_ You’re going to be a great Keeper some day _ , he’d told her. Nothing made her prouder. It was the path she’d walked since she knew how to walk at all. And all the while, Tamlen was growing and stumbling along beside her. Standing next to Tamlen, the future seemed brilliantly clear. And now, it crumbled like dust.

“Very well, Keeper,” Thaltiri sighed in defeat. “I will join the Grey Wardens.”


	3. The Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan recruits an elven mage into the Grey Wardens.

Beads of sweat dripped down Arvel’s forehead as his eyes fluttered open. A circle of swords aimed towards him as he came to consciousness on the cool floor of the Harrowing Chamber. Mouse’s last words still echoed in his mind.

_Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests never end._

“Stand down,” the grating voice of First Enchanter Irving cut through the line of blades. The gray-haired man pushed through the templars to offer Arvel his hand. Arvel took it, feeling breathless and tired as he came to his feet. The world felt overwhelmingly real after his venture into the Fade.

“Arvel Tabris, you have completed your harrowing.” Irving laughed hoarsely. “I knew you had it in you.” He clasped Arvel in a brief hug.

Arvel’s eyes met the cold glare of Knight Commander Greagoir from over Irving’s shoulder _._ “Do you need me to grab your jaw off the floor, Knight Commander?”

Greagoir scowled at him, and sheathed his sword in its scabbard. The other templars lowered their weapons and followed suit.

“Really,” Arvel pressed, “you don’t have to look _that_ surprised. If I was clever enough to slip out your grasp half a dozen times, you had to know I’m smart enough to _not_ get possessed.”

“Congratulations, young man,” Greagoir spoke begrudgingly. “As a full member of the Circle of Magi, I remind you that you are subject to the same rules and standards you were bound to as an apprentice. Perhaps even more so now than before.”

Arvel gave an overzealous salute to the glowering templar. “Of course, sir.”

“Remember the words of Andraste, magic must--”

“---serve man and never rule over him. Right now, I think I’ll serve man by getting an ounce of sleep. Something about being offered up to a demon just really--” he broke off in a oversized yawn, “--tires you out.”

Greagoir fixed Arvel with a steely stare, but moved out of his path and allowed him to leave the Harrowing Chamber without another word.

Irving followed shortly after him. “You understand the harrowing is, by necessity, a secret.”

Arvel said nothing, heart still racing in his chest, mind roiling over the vision of the Pride demon.

“Arvel,” Irving said a little sharper. “Do you understand?”

“Of course,” Arvel brushed him away. “Super secret, hush hush, got it.”

Irving sighed with exasperation. “You can rest now, and collect your things later today to move them into you new dormitory. New sets of robes will be waiting for you along with your staff. Use them wisely.”

“I wouldn’t use them any other way.”

“Arvel,” Irving placed a hand in front of him as he reached for the dormitory door. “You cannot speak of the harrowing to Jowan.”

“I _know_. We just talked about this. First Enchanter, are you going deaf?”

“I heard what you said, child. You simply have a habit of not meaning the words you speak.”

Arvel sealed an imaginary zipper over his lips, before conjuring the image of a key in his fingertips and tossing it away over his shoulder. The magic dissipated as it hit the stone wall behind him. Irving rubbed his forehead, expression weary.

“Very well, I will take my leave. Congratulations again, Arvel. It truly is a momentous achievement.”

The First Enchanter proceeded back down the hall, towards the spiral stair that led to his study. Arvel wrenched open the door to the apprentice quarters. The old door gave a loud whine on its hinges as he slipped inside. A few heads peered groggily from the lines of bunks. Some curse words were shot in his direction as he tried, but failed, to tiptoe back to his bed. The covers were cool as he slid beneath them. Arvel took the deepest breath he had taken all day, and exhaled with a swirl of pride and relief.

_It’s over. You did it. You made it._

Two seconds after his head touched the pillow, another poked over the top of the bunk and peered down at him.

“So, how was it?”

Arvel opened one eye, squinting up at Jowan.

“Really hard. They made me say three nice things about Greagoir. Got held up at two. I thought I was done for.”

“Come on, tell me what really happened!”

“Well,” Arvel sighed, “I’ll tell you two truths and a lie. You guess which is right.”

“Or, you could just tell me like a normal person,” Jowan groaned.

“Number one: if you fail, you definitely die a horrible painful death at the hands of the templars.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Two: you have to face a demon, and resist possession.”

“Wait, wha--”

“And three,” Arvel pressed on, “You get to have lunch with Andraste and she bathes you in her holy splendor.”

There was a pregnant pause. The color drained from Jowan’s face and he rolled onto his back, speechless.

“So, which one’s the lie?” Arvel prompted.

“You...you really had to face a _demon_?” Jowan whispered. “I can’t believe they forced you to do that.”

“They force _everyone_ to do that,” Arvel said matter of factly. “They made sure I didn’t feel special about it. But really, Jowan, it’s no big deal. If I can do it, you can.”

“No big deal? It’s like getting thrown to lions! They really do want us to fail, don’t they?”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Arvel chided.

“I really don’t know how I’ll handle my harrowing...if they ever let me have one.”

“Don’t say that,” Arvel said sharply. “You’re going to have your harrowing and you’re going to be fine. Now, I’m catching up on lost sleep so we’ll have to save all the details about how I fearlessly stared down Pride for tomorrow.”

“ _Pride?!_ Arvel, that’s the worst one!”

“Good night, Jowan,” Arvel sighed softly. But weary as he was, he couldn’t force his eyes away from the wood frame of the bed above him. The Fade awaited him in sleep, and the realm of dreams was far from restful.

 

Arvel peered over the binding of his book, watching the ginger-haired apprentice struggling to handle the flames that kept springing from her palms and spilling onto the floor. In the weeks that passed since his harrowing, he’d taken to spending his new-found free time pouring over the previously-restricted sections of the Circle library. Apparently, saying “no” to a demon once was enough to convince the templars that answer would never change. Not that _Advanced Abjuration_ was anywhere near _Introduction to Blood Magic,_ but still, Arvel found himself reveling in his new station.

The apprentice swore under her breath as she swatted out the flames smoldering on the fringes of her robes.

“Need some pointers?” Arvel raised a brow.

The girl whipped her head around, flushed with embarrassment. “No, thank you.I have it handled.”

“I can see that,” Arvel chuckled. “You know, as a _full_ Circle mage--”

“Shut up, Arvel.”

“Have it your way. I was simply trying to impart my years of wisdom to the youths, but alas, they won’t listen.”

She snorted derisively. “You know I’m only a year younger than you.”

Arvel bit back his retort as he saw Jowan lingering in the archway, waving frantically to him.

“What? Nothing smart to say?” The girl smirked, but she was now fully focused on her summoned fire. This time, she tamed the flames with a swirl of her hand before dispelling them safely. She looked back towards Arvel, victorious, but only caught the end of his robes disappearing down the hall after Jowan.

Arvel hurried after his friend, who set a brisk pace down the hall towards the back of the deserted Chantry. Arvel did an anxious sweep of the room, eying the bowed statue of Andraste cautiously.

“Jowan, what’s all this about?”

“Arvel, they’re going to do it. They’re going to make me Tranquil.”

“They’re _what?_ ” Arvel hissed. “Jowan, how do you know that?”

“I told him.” A soft voice came from behind them.

Arvel spun around to see a Chantry Sister, clad in sunburst robes, with soft brown eyes and hair tucked in braided bun.

“Sister,” Arvel’s voice came out in a high pitch squeak. “We were just...uh...praying. Praying very hard.”

“It’s okay,” Jowan interjected. “She’s...with me.”

Arvel felt a jolt of shock as he watched the priestess and his childhood friend embrace in a passionate kiss. They broke away after a moment, and Jowan rested his arm around her waist.

“Okay, Jowan, what’s going on? This is really, really, _really_ stupid.”

“When did that ever stop _you_?” Jowan laughed, but grew suddenly serious again. “A few months ago, I told you that I...met a girl. Lily and I, we fell in love.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, congratulations. But what does this have to do with the T word?”

“I overheard Greagoir and Irving speaking about it,” Lily’s voice was strained, tears springing to her eyes. “Irving was hesitant at first, but I saw the signed writ on his desk this morning.”

Jowan paced, eyes panicked. “They’ll take everything from me! My hopes, my dreams, my fears - my love for Lily, all gone. They’ll extinguish my humanity, I’ll be nothing but a husk!”

“They can’t just make anyone Tranquil,” Arvel countered.  “They have to have a reason. Why would Irving sign off on it?”

“There’s a foul rumor...people think I’m a blood mage. I don’t even know how it started, part of me wonders if the templars just made it up. Greagoir never liked me.”

Arvel gave a pointed look towards Lily. “Would you give us a moment?”

Lily nodded wordlessly, and stepped outside the chapel door.

When he was sure she was out of earshot, Arvel turned back to Jowan with a cold stare.

“Jowan, you’re my friend. If they’re going to do this to you, I’ll do whatever it takes to help you. But I need one thing from you, first.”

“Of course, anything!”

“ _Are_ you a blood mage?”

Jowan recoiled at his words. “Of course not! How could you even say that?”

“I’m not saying, I’m asking. Look, if you were, I would still help you. I just need to know the truth if I’m getting involved in this.”

Jowan sighed, deflated. “I just don’t know who I can trust anymore. I swear to you, I’m no blood mage.”

“You can trust me, Jowan,” Arvel vowed. He rubbed his hands together. “Now, about this escape plan…”

 

It was almost a perfect plan. Almost.

Arvel swallowed hard. The semi-circle of armed templars surrounding him gave him a dizzying sensation of deja vu. Arvel, Jowan, and Lily stood, backs pressed against the cellar door, as the swords advanced towards them.

And cutting through them all was the victorious sneer of Knight Commander Greagoir.

“You see, Irving? The boy doesn’t care the danger he poses to others, only his own selfish desires!”

Irving, pained, only nodded in defeat.

“ _Tabris,”_ Gregoir hissed his name. “All those years of dragging you back to the tower. This time you didn’t even make it out the door!”

Jowan clutched Lily’s trembling hand next to him. The priestess sobbed into her sleeves, shaking as the weight of the Knight Commander’s judgment moved to her.

“And _you!_ Fraternizing with that monster, betraying your sacred vows! Aeonar will have judgment for you.” At Greagoir’s command, two knights moved forward to seize Lily by the shoulders.

“No! I won’t let you touch her!” Jowan plunged a silver dagger into his palm. Blood erupted from the wound. Arvel felt the raw magic surge past him. He dove out of the way just as the magic tore past him and slammed the templars to the ground. Their armor clanged into the stone floor where they lay dazed. Jowan reached for Lily, but she shrieked and scurried away from him.

“Lily, please come with me!” He pleaded.

“You...you lied to me Jowan! How could you? Blood magic is evil, it corrupts people!”

“I’ll give up blood magic, I’ll give up _all_ magic! I don’t care, I just want to be with you!”

Lily shrunk away from him. “Don’t come any closer, blood mage! I don’t know who you are anymore!”

Arvel slowly stood, panting from the power of the blast. Though he narrowly dodged the worst of the spell, the sheer energy of the magic left him winded. Irving and the templars struggled to their knees.

Jowan’s pleading gaze locked with Arvel’s furious glare. For a moment, they stood perfectly still. And then, without a word, Jowan bolted for the door.

“No you _fucking_ don’t!”

Arvel made a ripping motion with his hands and the distance between him and Jowan suddenly shrunk. For a few seconds, Arvel was a blue smear as he fadestepped in between Jowan and his escape.

“Arvel, please-”

Arvel punched Jowan square in the jaw, giving a strangled cry at the tremor of pain that moved from knuckles through his wrist and arm. Jowan staggered backwards into the waiting clutches of Greagoir, who grappled him to the floor. Greagoir pressed a gauntlet over Jowan’s face, repressing the frantic spell on his lips with a flash of radiant light. The smite left Jowan in an unconscious heap on the ground. Templars rushed forward to bind him in chains.

Arvel looked away, cradling his swollen fist. _Why did you have to lie?_

Cool steel pressed against his throat. Greagoir’s blade was trained on his pulse. Slowly, Arvel looked up at him in disbelief. “What are you doing?”

“No more bullshit from you. You aided in the escape of a blood mage. You are _just_ as guilty as he is!”

“Greagoir!” Irving protested sharply, limping over to them. Jowan’s magic left massive, swelling bruises across the First Enchanter’s face. “By Andraste, the boy just _stopped_ him!”

“That’s not what I saw,” Greagoir growled. Arvel felt a trickle of blood leak from the point where Greagoir’s sword poked his flesh.

“What I saw was a demonstration of bravery on behalf of a friend and comrade. It was quite admirable.” All heads turned to the new voice that entered the fray. A tan-skinned man with black hair tied behind his head, strode slowly towards them. His armor was simple, except for the griffon sigil engraved on each pauldron.

“Warden Commander Duncan,” Greagoir addressed him tersely. “We are handling a Circle matter, as you can see.”

“On the contrary, Knight Commander, this is now a Grey Warden matter.”

Greagoir withdrew his weapon at once, the color leaving his face. “ _What did you say?_ ”

The man smiled calmly. “I am conscripting Arvel Tabris into the ranks of the Grey Wardens, and hereby taking him under my guardianship.”

“ _What?_ ” Now it was Arvel’s turn to gawk at the stranger.

“You should pack your things,” Duncan advised. “Something tells me it might be best if we leave immediately.”

Arvel watched as Greagoir’s face morphed from anger, to shock, to horror. His stomach writhed as he grappled with the same whirlwind of emotions. Mouse’s words sprang to mind once more. _Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests never end._ Arvel wondered, bleakly, if being Tranquil might have been better after all.


	4. The Templar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A templar knight leaves the Order to join the ranks of the Grey Wardens.

“No one’s home,” Sam whispered beside her. “We should double back now before we lose the trail.”

“He’s here,” Adelaide hissed under her breath. “You wussing out on me, dog boy?”

Mya chuckled from behind them. “You gonna let the Orlesian call you a coward?”

Sam rolled his eyes at the insult. “Fine fine, have it your way. The Knight Commander put you in charge, after all.”

“Damn right he did. Now buck up and back to your positions!”

Minutes ticked by. The night was cold, even in the heart of summer. A layer of thick dew coated the brush they now crouched in. Sam huffed impatiently, eyes trained on the window of the barn just outside the treeline. The decrepit structure was half-collapsed and long-abandoned. A few yards away, Adelaide caught the glint off Mya’s armor as she stirred restlessly at her post.  _ Wait. Just wait. He’s here. _

The minutes turned to an hour, and still, nothing. Maybe the others were right. Adelaide began to doubt her resolve. No, her training taught her better. The mage was trying to wait them out before disappearing deeper into the Korcari Wilds. Then, finally, a brilliant blue light flared inside the barn. It vanished seconds later, but Adelaide and her companions were already moving. 

They converged on the doors, the clank of their armor betraying their approach.

“They’ll know we’re coming,” Sam warned.

“Good.” Adelaide smirked. She drew her broadsword from its sheath and in one fluid motion, threw the door open with her fist. “IN THE NAME OF THE MAKER, SURRENDER OR PERISH!”

At the base of the rubble was a dark-robed figure. His head whipped around as the templars entered. Scraggly tendrils of hair hung limp and lifeless from his patchy head. He raked them over with a wild gaze, grinning from ear to ear. A dark ichor seemed to swim through the veins in his face, causing ripples beneath his skin. He spoke in a gutteral snarl.

“The only one who will perish today is you, templar!” He lurched forward suddenly, hands outstretched and curled like claws. A loud, crunching sound came from behind them.

Adelaide turned. The crunching and snapping continued as before their eyes, bones levitated from the dirt and began constructed themselves into skeletal fiends. Three, then four, then five of the undead sprouted from the earth, clutching clubs and crude weapons.

Mya and Sam leapt to action, slashing forward with their blades. The zombies sauntered forward with weapons drawn. Adelaide rounded on the mage, slicing her sword towards his chest. The weapon bounced harmlessly off a magical blue barrier surrounding her enemy. 

Focusing inward, Adelaide drew on the power of her breath, and summoned the reserve of energy her templar training taught her to call upon. She thrust forward again with her weapon, praying for the Maker to guide her strike. The mage dodged the blow by inches, but his barrier disintegrated before him. Adelaide seized the opening and bore down on him with a flurry of slashes.

As she swung down, the mage’s hands flashed with magic. Adelaide stumbled with the impact of the spell. An icy, skeletal hand snared her wrist and sent a searing chill through her veins. She shook the apparition away, and it dispersed into shards of ice, but she could feel the throbbing where it marked her. She rounded on her quarry, swinging with her broadsword once more, only to come down on empty air as the mage teleported away in a cloud of mist. 

Her eyes darted around, watching for him to reappear. The swing of his staff to the back of her armor gave away his new location. Adelaide turned again, taking a defensive stance. He mimicked her motions, casting his hands about in a waving pattern until his form began to shift and blur before her. Her eyes strained against the enchantment, but the illusion persisted.

Drawing on the power within her once more, Adelide lashed out with a burst of radiant light. The energy shimmered across the mage and brought him back into clarity. He staggered back in shock, gaping as his magic was dispelled before him. Adelaide seized her chance and drove forward with her blade, driving up and through his chest. He crumpled as she withdrew.

“May the Maker forgive your trespasses, this world certainly won’t.” She brought the blade cleaving down on his neck.

Mya and Sam’s backs were to each other, parrying blows from a ring of undead. The skeletons surrounding them crumpled into dust as their creator met his end. Adelaide’s companions whirled around, spotting the bloody heap at their comrade’s feet.

“Well done,” Same clasped her on the shoulder.

“Good job,” Mya added.”It’s about damn time we caught that one. He’s been giving people nightmares for months.”

“Now,” Adelaide panted, heart still racing from the heat of battle, “they can sleep soundly.”

 

The fog was a thick, white blanket across Lake Calenhad when they returned. Adelaide had to squint to see the base of the Circle Tower, spiralling up into the mist. She and the others stabled their horses with Merrin, the horsemaster near the docks.

“It feels good to be home,” She smiled as they boarded the boat that would take them to the tower. Ruins of the old bridge that use to lead to its doors still protruded from the lake, like white marble icebergs in the lapping waters. 

“Eh,” Sam grunted next to her. “I prefer the field, myself. It’s good to get some fresh air now and then.”

“Same,” Mya nodded. “I really hate being stuffed up in the tower some days. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind grabbing a drink at the Spoiled Princess before we head back. It’s probably the last chance we’ll get for a while.”

“Ah, me too.” Sam abruptly rose from the boat, climbing back onto the dock. The pair started towards the tavern. Sam stopped in his tracks, turning back to Adelaide. “I don’t suppose you’d want to come? I always heard Orlesians were more sippers than drinkers.”

“I should report back to Knight Commander Greagoir,” Adelaide said crisply. “You two go enjoy your drinks.”

“Right, I figured, just thought I’d ask. See you in a bit.” He and Mya sauntered off towards the tavern near the shore. The boatman untied the ropes binding them to the dock, and began to row their way towards the tower. Sam and Mya grew fainter and fainter, until their figures disappeared in the mist altogether.

Adelaide nodded a curt greeting to the templars stationed at the Tower gates. “Maker watch over you, brothers.”

“Ser Adelaide?” One of the knights jolted to attention at the sound of her voice. “Knight Commander Greagoir wanted to see you at once upon your return!”

“Of course, I had planned to go directly to him to deliver my report. We were very successful in the Wilds--”

“It’s regarding another matter, I’m afraid.”

Something in the knight’s face made her uneasy, but she bit her lip and said no more, only nodded her assent before entering through the massive stone doors.

Her suspicions only grew as she made her way through the tower to Greagoir’s office. The mages skittered away like mice at her approach. While Adelaide would never hesitate to tell them their place when they’d forgotten, the mages were hardly known to flee at her presence. The templars, on the other hand, paid her no special attention. They seemed especially attentive to their duty, unflinching in their grim demeanor. 

At last, she came to stand in Greagoir’s door frame.

“Ah...Ser Adelaide.”

Adelaide frowned at the Knight-Commander’s expression. “You seem...worried, Sir.”

“Worried is an understatement,” Greagoir laughed humorlessly. “I’m afraid the worst occurred when you were away from the tower. A blood mage struck when we least expected it. He was to be made tranquil tomorrow. If we’d only acted faster…”

“A blood mage?” Adelaide bristled.

“Jowan, the young boy always lurking in Arvel Tabris’ shadow,” Greagoir sneered. 

“Arvel?” Adelaide said with surprise. “Sir, you don’t mean to say--”

“Come now,” the Knight Commander chided her. “All those escape attempts? The flagrant disregard for our authority? He is not harmless. Don’t forget what he is capable of...what they are  _ all _ capable of!”

“I would never forget my duty, Knight-Commander.”

“Of course not. That is why I have called you here.” He raised a hand, gesturing for her to sit.

Adelaide sunk uneasily into the wooden chair across his desk. The Knight Commander remained standing, staring out the window of the tower with a mournful gaze.

“I’ve watched you climb through the ranks faster than any before you. You started as no one, came from nothing, and yet, here you are. That is why what I am about to ask, I would ask of no one else but you. You are a true servant of the Maker.”

Adelaide shifted nervously in the chair. “Sir? I’m not sure I understand.”

Greagoir refused to meet her gaze. “Warden-Commander Duncan recently visited our tower. He was looking for mages to recruit into the Wardens. I gave him a list of names of those I found to be of acceptable will and disposition. But in the light of recent events, he deemed it his duty to conscript Arvel Tabris, and save him from certain consequences of aiding and abetting a known blood mage.This is  _ injustice. _ You and I know Jowan never had half a thought on his own. It was Tabris, Adelaide. I’m sure of it!”

“How can we stop him, sir?”

“ _ We _ can’t. But maybe  _ you _ can.”

Adelaide stood. “Anything, sir. What would you have me do?”

At long last, Greagoir turned to meet her gaze with a look of grim resignation.

“I would have you leave the Templar Order. I would have you join the Grey Wardens. I would have you follow Tabris, and ensure that if he is a maleficar, he dies by your hand.”

Adelaide blinked back at him in stunned silence.

“I know the price is...high. Becoming a Grey Warden is for life. When your mission is over, whether Tabris is guilty or not, you would no longer be a part of the Templar Order. But the price of letting him go if we’re wrong…”

Adelaide’s mouth opened, and then closed.  _ You ask too much of me, sir.  _ The words were on the tip of her tongue, dying for her to say them aloud.

Ser Adelaide bowed her head. “As you wish, Knight Commander.”


End file.
